


sit still and look pretty

by yellow_crayon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee Shop, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love Actually!AU, Love at First Sight, Meet-Cute, Multi, Romance, Seeing Eye Dogs, baby Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, Matt,” Foggy had said slowly, “ You’re like a backed-up toilet, every now and then, you need a good solid plunging, or you’d get pissy and pent-up. And by plumber I mean-“</p><p>“I know what you mean, you can stop now,” Matt had said in a strained voice, his face spasming a little.</p><p>“-a penis. A really really big one. Attached to a man.” Foggy clarified helpfully.</p><p>  <strong>(A modern day Love Actually!AU featuring everyone)</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a series of email exchanges with my friend and co-author BeanieBaby. Somehow we've managed to turn it into this monster. I wrote one section, then she wrote another and so forth. It was super fun. 
> 
> -YC

**Steve Rogers** had been there when Thor had received the news of his parents’s death. He had also been there when Odin’s team of lawyers, all grim-faced men in black suits, had filed into their tiny Manhattan apartment to settle their affairs. The ‘affairs’ had included Thor's three-month old infant brother Loki, who had been staying with the nanny at the time of the accident.

The point was, Steve Rogers, who had been best friends with Thor Odinson since childhood, had been there when Thor suddenly found himself in the role of a sleep-deprived father.

No, make that two sleep-deprived ‘fathers'.

Three weeks after Thor had been officiated as Loki’s legal guardian, the baby had gotten into the inhuman habit of wailing like a banshee and waking up the whole building at three in the morning. Every single night (day).

“Are you sure it’s not the diaper?” Steve asked anxiously one evening/very early morning.

He was attempting to distract Loki by waving about his favorite toy over the child’s head. It was a stuffed horse with eight legs that Steve had created in a fit of alcohol-induced inspiration during the first year of his graduate program at the Tisch School of the Arts. He hadn’t gotten a very nice grade for that piece when he’d turned it in as a part of his final project.

Thor lifted Loki’s tiny socked feet in one of his massive hands and bent down to sniff at the crying baby’s bum. “Nope, smells as fresh as a poop-less nappy can be.”

The tenant in the adjacent apartment banged on their joint wall. In the distance, a dog began to bark.

Steve sighed and went to pull their list of possible solutions off of the whiteboard attached to the fridge.

“Alright, soiled diaper, not it,” He ran his eyes down the long list. “Hungry? Need a bit of fresh air? Upset stomach?” He read, stifling a yawn.

Thor pulled the wailing infant against his chest and began to gently massage Loki’s round tummy. They both sat down on the shitty sofa as the baby's cries turned to soft hiccuping whimpers. He was impossibly soft and warm within Thor’s arms, and he smelled like baby powder and milk. Hell, all three of them smelled like the stuff, or maybe it was the whole apartment and possibly the entire floor. Steve dropped his forehead against Thor’s shoulder and nodded off to sleep.

In the morning, Thor had an early exam on Civil Procedures, and Steve had a red mark on his forehead the size of a baseball.

He'd woken to the sight of Thor munching on a bagel, juggling Loki in one arm and attempting to microwave some hot water to melt the baby formula in the other. He finally gave up and set Loki onto the counter to wrestle open the door of their ancient microwave.

The child, soft like a gummy worm at the tender age of four-months, slowly began to list sideways. Steve ripped his drool-crusted face away from the arm of the sofa and dashed into the kitchen to catch the baby before he fell head-first into the sink. Thank the Lord their living room and kitchen were just ten feet apart.

“Phanks,” Thor gave him a grateful smile behind the mouthful of bagel. The microwave roared to a stop. Thor made the bottle of formula and tossed it to Steve before reaching out to bop Loki on the nose.

“Bye, cutie-pie. Don’t pick on Uncle Steve while your favorite person in the entire world is away,” Thor peppered Loki’s face with enthusiastic kisses and blew a noisy raspberry against the baby’s forehead. Loki giggled and grabbed wildly for his older brother.

“Wish me luck, guys!” Thor yelled, making a mad dash for the door with his book bag slung haphazardly around his hip.

“See you after the exam. Good luck,” Steve called after him, teaching Loki to wave goodbye. A second later, the door to their tiny shared apartment slammed shut.

“Well, it looks like it’s gonna be you and me for a while,” Steve told the infant before settling Loki on his hip.

 

* * *

 

 **Scott Lang** glowered at the hulking blond man in the elevator. There was a spot of white smeared on the bridge of his nose, but Scott wasn’t going to open his mouth to say so. It was probably the residue of some crack cocaine the guy had been snorting last night, judging by the racket.

Yup. He was done being the meek neighbor. One more sleepless night and he wouldn’t just kick at the wall like an angry child, no, he was going to go over there and knock. He was going to tell the blasted kid and his equally good-looking friend to keep it down because-

“Daddy?” Cassie tugged on his shirt sleeve and yawned.

“Yeah, baby girl?” Scott gave her a supportive smile and squeezed her hand.

“I’m nervous,” She confessed in a low voice, burying her face in the side of his jacket.

“It’s going to be alright,” He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy will come and pick you up at three, okay? Most of your preschool friends are going to be in the same class, and I hear that Mr. Parker is one of the best teachers in the entire school.”

“First day?” The giant blond opened his mouth and asked with a beaming smile. Scott silently cursed the slow elevator.

“Yes, mister,” Cassie answered solemnly. Scott felt a burst of pride at his daughter’s good manners.

“Call me Thor. I have a feeling it’s gonna be great.” To his surprise, the man fished out a piece of chocolate in his satchel and handed it to the little girl.

The elevator dinged.

The blond winked exaggeratedly at Cassie and walked out into the lobby. Cassie turned to smile up at Scott. He sighed.

So much for manning up.

“Hey, you! Yes, you, you’ve got something on your face, yeah, right there on the bridge of your nose.” He shouted after the retreating figure.

The man turned around at the sound of his voice. Scott rolled his eyes and waved to catch his attention. The blond rubbed at his face with a sleeve before grinning and yelling back, “it’s baby formula. Thanks, man!”

Wait, did he say baby formula?

They had a baby in that apartment?!

 

* * *

 

 **Peter Parker** looked over the list of first-graders in his class for the fifteenth time that morning. Across from him, Gwen rolled her eyes and reached out to snatch the piece of paper from his protesting hands.

“Relax, Pete. You’re gonna be great,” She said patiently, pushing a cup of warm coffee into his open palm.

“But, but I’ve never taught first-graders before!” Peter wailed, taking a big sip and burning his tongue on the hot liquid in his haste. He grimaced.

“Yeah, like teaching second-grade was sooooo different,” A sarcastic voice said from behind as a heavy arm dropped over Peter’s shoulder. Wade Wilson, homeroom teacher of the rowdiest fourth-grade class in the history of their elementary school, collapsed in the seat next to Peter. He stole the coffee from Peter’s fingers and took a long sip before turning to leer at Gwen. Gwen rolled her eyes at him, lips twitching up in a smile.

“You’ve got fourth-graders. Fourth-graders are practically mini-adults!” Peter protested, blushing a bit at the close proximity. “First-graders are still babies!”

The bell rang before the other man could come up with a witty reply. Instead, Wade shot up from his seat, yanking Peter to his feet as well and tossing the empty coffee cup into the bin with one effortless throw.

“You’re gonna be as great as when you taught the second years, trust me. They're just giving you more responsibilities because you're reliable. Everyone loves you, baby boy.” Wade’s arm snaked around Peter’s waist as he said the words, his expression strangely sincere. “Go and show those itty-bitty babies how awesome you are.”

Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest. He sent Peter out of the teacher’s lounge with a firm smack to the butt.

“How are you even allowed within 500 yards of a school?” Peter turned to yell at the other man as he let himself be pushed along in the crowd of kids in the hallway. Wade smirked at him before waving at a tiny mousy-haired kid who bellowed an excited "Mr. Wilson!” and tackled the fourth-grade science teacher around the waist.

Peter remembered vaguely that his name was Bob.

 

* * *

 

"Slow down!" **Clint Barton** ordered the struggling child in his grip. Just seconds ago he'd narrowly avoided an elbow to the crotch when one of Pietro's preschool friends, a pretty brown-haired little girl named Cassie, walked past them with what appeared to be her rumpled father. The platinum blond boy had whirled around to say hi, his bulky arm cast swinging wildly after him. Thus came the prominent danger to Clint's man bits. He’d broken the arm a few weeks ago when he fell out of the tree in Clint’s backyard.

"Everyone's gonna be there already! We're the only ones still walking! I don’t want to be late." The little boy whined, twisting to aim an accusatory look up at him. Clint groaned and gave up. He scooped the wriggling child into his arms and ran back a few paces to snatch up Wanda, Pietro’s twin sister, and tearing the little girl away from an animated conversation with a tree trunk.

“Bye, Mr. Wood!” Wanda waved cheerfully from Clint’s shoulder.

He’d adopted the twins when the United States pulled their forces out of Sokovia. It had taken quite the effort to get both kids American passports and bring them back home, but Clint was convinced it was the only good thing he’d done during his time in the army. At the moment, he was really regretting his paternal impulses. 

“Pssss!” Pietro hissed into Clint’s ear, short arms wrapped around his neck.

“What now, you little goblin?” Clint asked irritably. Judging by the amount of traffic, he was definitely going to be late to the precinct today.

“I love you,” The little boy confessed honestly, dropping a small wet kiss to Clint’s cheek. His flaring temper immediately dampened. Smart little bugger.

“Love you too, both of you.” He replied gruffly.

“So can I invite my friends over for a sleepover this weekend?” Pietro asked hopefully, desolving into hapless shrieks of laughter when Clint rubbed his rough unshaven cheek against his pale smooth skin.

“If you behave really well and make more than twenty new friends today,” Clint said. He and Pietro hooked pinkies. Wanda was now braiding random bits of dried grass she found in her pocket into Clint’s hair and humming tunelessly under her breath.

“Ant, Nat, wait up.” A man ran past them, wearing a red hoodie, faded blue jeans and soft black boots. His hair was pulled back into a low messy bun at the back of his head. He had two backpacks in his hands, one red and one black. Up ahead, two small kids turned to giggle mischievously at their guardian.

The dark-haired little boy broke into a run, “Catch us if you can, Bucky! Come on, Jarvis.”

“Ant and Gnat?” Clint echoed, snorting. _What was the guy’s name? Dung-Beetle?_

“Nat is short for Natasha. She is from Russia,” Wanda informed him helpfully.

“Really?”

“She said they used to hunt wild lions and eat them with their bare hands. She’s scary,” Wanda continued, content to stay in Clint’s arms while her brother Pietro squirmed. Clint set the boy down when they arrived at the front entrance to the school. Pietro got awfully embarrassed about being treated like a baby in public.

Clint brushed the bits of grass from his head and told Pietro to take his sister’s hand when she reluctantly let go of Clint's arm. They passed a loud classroom where a handsome man was standing atop the desk in front while the class erupted in a loud cheer of “Hooray, Mr. Wilson!” The teacher took a theatrical bow and glittery confetti shot from his sleeves. The classroom pet, a huge white cockatoo with yellow head feathers, landed atop the man’s shoulder.

“Blasted kids!” It shrieked, flapping its giant wings.

“Weasel, bad bird,” The man swatted at the cockatoo.

Clint felt quite relieved his kids weren’t assigned to Class 4-04.

“You do know that there aren’t wild lions in Russia, right? Lions live in Africa and maybe the zoos in Russia.” He said as they continued in their search for Class 1-01.

“Yes there are, they eat snow and live in icebergs and glaciers,” Wanda said, surprising Clint with the size of her vocabulary. Pietro tripped over his unlaced sneakers and sprawled to the ground, taking his sister with him.

Clint sighed and bent down to separate the tangled pile of Maximoff twins. He was definitely going to be late for work.

 

* * *

 

“Be good, don’t just talk to each other in Russian. Talk to the other kids, make new friends.” **James Barnes** ordered them when they arrived at the classroom door. Their homeroom teacher, a baby-faced kid that couldn’t be a day older than eighteen, was already taking the roll call.

“Got it,” Tony said, rolling his eyes and taking the red backpack from Bucky.

“Are you sure you won’t let me get you another backpack?” He couldn’t help but ask Natasha, who had tugged her jet-black bag from his hands.

“Nyet,” His little girl said curtly, turning her nose up at the offer and stalking into the classroom like a tigress, her bright red curls bouncing atop her head.

“Where’s Jarvis’s backpack?” Tony tugged at James’s arm. Shit, he’d forgotten to pack a bag for Tony’s imaginary friend, Jarvis. He’d just gotten out of a 48-hour shift at the hospital where he was currently doing his second year of residency, and it must’ve slipped his mind in the frenzy to get everything ready for the children's first day of elementary school and not keel over and die from sheer exhaustion.

“I’m gonna bring it by later today, kiddo,” He promised.

Tony gave him a gap-toothed smile and patted the back of James’s hand. “It’s okay, Bucky. I can share my stuff with him.”

“Of course,” James smiled back and pulled the little boy in for a brief hug. “Have fun. I’ll come pick you up at 3.”

By the time he was heading back outside, he spotted the man that had been struggling with the little boy and girl before. He still had a piece of grass dangling atop his head as he wrestled the chattering kids into the classroom. They were talking about snow-chomping lions in Russia.

James shook his head with a snort of laughter. One more stop for food, five measly hours of sleep, and he had to pick up the kids before going back to the hospital for his night shift at the ER.

He headed for the grocery store.

 

* * *

 

“How’d the exam go?” Steve asked as he pushed the grocery cart through the aisle of diapers, Loki strapped snugly to his chest in a baby carrier. Thor’s noisy exhale blasted through the cellphone’s speakers.

“I think I did okay. How’s my precious pumpkin?” That was Thor speech for ‘I totally got full marks, but I’m too modest to say so.’

“Good, I got that offer from the gallery to do the oil portrait for King T’Chaka and his son today. You remember, that king visiting from Wakanda.”

“Congratulations are in order, Steven!” Thor cried, “but I wasn’t referring to you. How’s Loki?”

“Also good,” Steve replied, bringing his cellphone down for Loki to inspect. “Say hi to your helicopter big brother, Kiki.”

Loki blew a spit bubble and tried to lick the screen.

Thor cooed.

“Anyway,” Steve continued, wiping at Loki’s wet chin with his bib and confiscated the phone and Thor’s smiling face. The baby began to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Thor asked, alarmed.

“Nothing, he just wants to eat my phone. Talk to you later, bye.” Steve hung up hurriedly and patted the distressed infant in his arms. “Come on, Kiki. Don’t do this to me now, I’m your favorite, remember?”

The loud noise was starting to attract onlookers. A few older women shot him disapproving looks but did not offer any help. Steve briefly contemplated abandoning his loot and rushing out of the store but thought better of it when he saw how much he had in the cart.

“Here, let me.” A soft male voice said from behind. A tall brunet man in a red hoodie held out his hands to Steve after placing a pack of frozen hot pockets on the diaper shelf next to him. He was incredibly handsome in a tired irritable way, Steve’s inner artist noted with a sigh of approval. He didn’t look like a baby snatcher to Steve, so he handed Loki over carefully.

“Hey baby girl, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” The mysterious baby whisperer cooed in what sounded like a Brooklyn accent, tickling Loki’s chin with a playful finger as he rocked the baby. Loki’s war-cries dwindled almost immediately.

“Thank you so much,” He said in a rush of gratitude, sagging against the shelf with a relieved sigh.

“No problem,” The handsome stranger replied, vibrant green eyes crinkling in a warm smile, “Your daughter is beautiful.”

“Oh, he’s not my daughter,” Steve said before he can stop the words.

Alarm flashed through the man’s eyes, his open expression becoming somewhat guarded as he studied Steve’s face.

"Then why is he in a sunflower dress?” Handsome Stranger asked, lifting one of the yellow petals acting as part of the skirt and peering underneath. Loki kicked and giggled.

"Uh,” Steve wrung his hands, panicking, "I'm trying to bring back androgynous fashion for men. It's a project I'm currently doing. Kiki’s my model," His blue eyes darted over the man’s carefully blank face and explained hurriedly, "I'm studying fashion design at NYU."

“Right,” The man said, eyes darting to a passing shopper who was wearing a police uniform and scowling up a storm as he carted off over a dozen boxes of instant coffee.

“I’m not a baby snatcher,” Steve blurted out, trying to sound sincere, “He's my best friend’s baby brother.”

This comment made the handsome stranger look even more guarded.

“Your best friend is a kid?” He asked eventually, looking disturbed. Loki wasn’t helping by nuzzling into the man’s arms like a happy little worm and completely ignoring his favorite ‘uncle.’

Steve wanted to cry. Or maybe disappear into a hole in the ground.

“No, it’s not something creepy. My best friend is 23. His parents died in an accident recently, so the baby’s staying with us until Thor graduates law school, gets a new place and takes over the family business.” He said in a rush, his face the color of ground beef by now.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” To his surprise, the man apologized immediately. “Ant’s parents died when he was a baby, too.”

“Ant?” Steve asked, completely lost.

“Short for Anthony,” The man explained, “I’m his godfather. That’s why I’m good with babies. Raised two by myself while going through med school, the other one’s a little girl, my cousin’s daughter actually.” He smiled crookedly, “took me five-and-a-half years to graduate, but keeping them happy was worth every sleepless night.”

Steve felt his heart do a besotted little tap-dance number in his ribcage.

“That’s amazing. Thor and I are already half-dead, and it’s two against one,” He said in awe. The handsome stranger smiled and tried to hand the baby back, but to Steve’s pleasant surprise, Loki latched onto the man’s white t-shirt with tiny meaty fists and refused to let go.

“Uh-” They looked at each other and burst out laughing, ignoring the strange glances they were getting. Two grown men cackling their heads off in the diaper section of a grocery store.

Steve stuffed Loki’s bumblebee pacifier back into the baby’s mouth before taking a deep breath and saying, “Looks like Kiki likes you. So, wanna pick up the rest of your groceries with us?”

The man blinked before smiling, “yeah, sure. I’m James, James Barnes. But my friends and the kids call me Bucky.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, taking James’s frozen hot pockets and placing them in his cart. “Mind if I ask the origin of that nickname?”

“Too much spiked eggnog, a scratchy reindeer costume and one of those fake rodeo bulls at a Christmas party three years ago,” James confessed cheerfully, bouncing Loki in his arms as they made their way to the dairy section. “I puked inside the costume and vomit came streaming out of every orifice, even the eyeholes. I was still riding atop the-”

“Right,” Steve laughed, “Now I will never rid of that image ever again, _Bucky_.”

“Jerk,” James elbowed him in the side, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Idiot,” Steve shot back, grinning.

 

* * *

 

 **Sam Wilson’s** morning was not going well.

Normally, he had a set routine.

he usually woke up at 5 AM, took a 30-minute jog around the nearby park, did some strength exercises, showered, and was ready to head out at 7 AM. Then he would wait patiently in line at his favorite coffee place for his simple double shot expresso, which the cute guy behind the counter would mess up in some strange and yet exhilarating way. He would drink his coffee, grab a scone from one of the less crowded bakeries and walk to the precinct, arriving at work at precisely 7:45 AM.

The first thing that had gone wrong was that the cute guy behind the counter hadn’t been there to make his crappy coffee this morning. The girl, her name tag had read ‘Hope’ in neat black print, handed him his perfect coffee and sent him out with a brilliant smile instead of the hurriedly ‘Have a nice day, sir’ his cute guy always said.

(After three months, the man still hadn’t remembered that his name was Sam. And wasn’t that a depressing thought.)

He’d arrived at the precinct five minutes late to find the IT guys rerouting their network today, so Wifi service was down until at least tomorrow. One hour later, his asshole of a partner Clint Barton had called in to tell him that he would be late because his precious twins were starting their first day of elementary school.

Then, the four coffee machines in the lounge somehow simultaneously bit the dust and all hell broke loose.

He had been taken off the homicide case and sent as an errand boy to the nearest grocery store to get instant coffee for the agitated cops who could not survive without constant supplies of caffeine. It was a wonder how they got anything done in between the bathroom breaks and the coffee refills.

To make matters worse, there had been a screaming baby three aisles down from where he was hauling instant coffee by the box-load into his cart. Sam felt a headache coming as he wheeled his mountain of coffee to the check-out area. He could barely see the cashier over the boxes.

“Paper or plastic, sir?” A familiar voice said.

Sam struggled to peer over his coffee mountain.

The cute guy from Pym’s Coffee smiled cluelessly at him from behind the register, wearing a yellow vest that identified him as one of the staff members.

“Don’t you work in that coffee shop?” Sam hadn’t meant for his voice to be so accusatory. Scott froze, his pretty honey hazel gaze flickering from Sam to the coffee fort he’d erected.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” He grimaced, cheeks coloring as Sam slammed his first box of coffee onto the belt. He gave Sam a sheepish smile and explained, “Today was my daughter’s first day of school. She was nervous. I thought I’d take the shift tonight, so I’d be there for her.”

“I see,” Sam said, feeling horrible for opening his mouth. 

“I’m in between jobs at the moment, and I’ve been working several shifts to pay rent…” Scott gestured at his bright vest. “Hope, my ex-girlfriend was gracious enough to give me a temporary position at her father’s shop. I actually majored in electrical engineering in grad school.”

“No wonder your coffee tastes so awful,” Sam blurted out without thinking. Scott deflated a little before shooting a reproachful look at Sam, who was attempting to mentally suffocate himself with one of the plastic bags.

“But, but you’re there every morning,” Scott pointed out, huffing as he helped Sam bag the coffee. Their fingers brushed and Sam’s traitorous mouth decided to vomit forth more verbal diarrhea without his brain’s consent.

“I don’t go there for the coffee,” He said in a rough voice.

Scott blinked twice before his face turned beet red, “Oh.”

“Yeah, so I should be going,” Sam said in a last effort to preserve his dignity. Scott didn’t take his palm away from where it had settled on the back of Sam’s hand. The sight made Sam’s stomach do a weird flip-flop.

“See you tomorrow morning, Sam,” Scott finally spoke, averting his gaze as red crawled slowly up the side of his neck.

“Yes, tomorrow. I will. See you, that is.” He cleared his throat and grabbed his bags of instant coffee, feeling a bit dazed as he exited the store.

Scott knew his name.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

Then Sam stepped into a pothole.

It had just rained last night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I bet you're going to cave in and fuck him by the end of the month," Karen said, her voice confident.
> 
> Frank snorted. "I don't fuck."
> 
> "Fine, then." She smirked, "he's going to fuck you by the end of the month."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When there is a switch of POV, the character name will be in bold.

After his army days, **Frank Castle** could've joined the police force along with Clint Barton, but the job environment was too similar to that of the hierarchy system in the army, and after serving a solid six years overseas, Frank wanted none of that. He wanted to give orders for once, save lives instead of taking them, and he wanted to work with animals.

So, he'd become a seeing eye dog trainer.

But at the moment, Frank Castle was late for work.

“You’re late, handsome,” Mel called out to him when he slipped into the building.

“Won’t happen again,” He promised the old woman when she signed him in and jerked a hand toward the lobby area.

“I know you don’t always like this part of the job, but a prospective client is here and he wants to meet someone to go over a few things before he submits the paperwork for a guide dog.”

“Can’t Karen speak to him?” Frank couldn’t help but ask. He loved the dogs, but his soldier days hadn’t exactly won him any charisma points, so Karen Page, who was one of the nicest women he’d ever met, took care of most of their human client interactions.

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one,” Mel winked at him. “Besides, she’s with someone else at the moment and the poor soul's been sitting there for twenty minutes already.” Frank made sure she saw his eye-roll when he reluctantly snatched the manila folder with the client’s information from her fingers. He flipped through the pages while making his way down to the waiting area.

_So, name’s Matthew Murdock, occupation lawyer, born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen, and…_

_Blind since he was ten._

Murdock would have been old enough to remember what the sky looked like.

He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the man and turned the page. The modest profile picture on the last page made a rush of embarrassment expand in his chest as he recalled Mel’s exaggerated wink.

Apparently, Murdock was quite good-looking.

He slammed the folder shut, tucked it under one arm and yanked the door open to the visitor’s lounge.

The face that greeted Frank was even prettier than the photo. Glossy cherry-red lips, pale spotless skin and a shock of dark hair lying artistically across his forehead. The dark maroon lenses he has on were hiding the gold-flecked hazel eyes Frank had seen in the picture.

How does a blind man like Murdock even have perfect hair? It’s not as if he can style it in the mirror every morning.

He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until the man coughed softly, his outstretched hand starting to falter. Frank reached out to shake his hand just as Murdock finally gave up. His fingers grazed Murdock's on the way down and tangled into one of the most awkward unintentional hand-holding situations Frank had ever had the misfortune to experience.

"Frank," the door to the waiting room burst open and Karen spilled inside, "Mel said you forgot to-"

Her eyes fell to their linked hands. Frank wanted to keel over and die.

But Murdock was much more smooth. He brushed his fingers calmly over Frank's thundering pulse and settled them over his forearm before lifting his head to address Karen. "Hello there, we were just about to head over to see some of the puppies on the compound, weren't we-"

"Frank," Frank said numbly.

"-Frank, who kindly offered me his assistance," Murdock smiled sweetly. "Would you like to join us?"

He didn't let go of Frank's arm for the rest of the appointment.

"So," Karen began when the automated doors closed behind Murdock's ("call me Matt") back. He'd scheduled another appointment with Frank before he even left.

"Don't," Frank warned, folding his thick arms over his chest and trying his hardest to look scary. She wasn't intimidated for a second.

"Oh come on, Frank! It's been three years since the divorce, live a little!" Karen flipped a shimmering sheet of blonde hair behind one impatient shoulder and glared. "And he was clearly interested in you."

"Too bad I'm not interested in him," Frank lied.

"Well, I bet you're going to cave in and fuck him by the end of the month," Karen said, her voice confident.

Frank snorted. "I don't fuck."

"Fine, then." She smirked, "he's going to fuck you by the end of the month."

 

* * *

 

Three appointments later, Matt scheduled the fourth in his apartment and rode Frank's dick so hard he saw stars. When it was over, Frank sat there on the man's couch, mind blissfully blank after possibly the most satisfying orgasm of his life. Matt was striding unhindered around his living room, bare ass exposed for all the world to see as he fetched beer for the two of them.

So he was a blind lawyer with a bleeding heart and a sex fiend. And he'd thought the guy was some bashful Catholic virgin.

Then Frank remembered something.

He pulled out his phone and checked the date.

There was still a solid week till the end of the month.

Damn it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, Mattie,” He had said slowly, “ You’re like a backed-up toilet, every now and then, you need a good solid plunging, or you’d get pissy and pent-up. And by plunger I mean-“ 
> 
> “I know what you mean, you can stop now,” Matt had said in a strained voice, his face spasming a little. 
> 
> “-a penis. A really really big one. Attached to a man.” Foggy clarified helpfully.

**Thor** dumped a bagful of shiny colorful pamphlets onto their dining table and sat down niosily.

"What are those?" Steve asked without looking up from his book.

"The school says I need to apply for a weekend position at a law firm now that I’m in my final year,” Thor told him cheerfully.

“I thought you already had a job over the summer,” Steve finally looked up, frowning, “you know, that big fancy firm something & Sons.”

“Sterling and Berks,” Thor corrected. “Didn’t like them very much.”

“Right.”

“Hmm, this looks promising,” Thor held up a red and black colored pamphlet. “Nelson and Murdock,” He laughed, “Oh, and it says here that they have a five-star Yelp rating, based off of…ah, thirty-seven people. Apparently, they're new.”

Steve opened his laptop and typed in the name of the firm. There was a pause before he snorted and read, “one Mrs. Cardenas apparently has been paying her legal fees with casseroles, and she refers to the two partners as her ’wonderful sons.’ It’s written in Spanish, I’m literally translating this to you.”

“I like casseroles,” Thor beamed, slapping the pamphlet against his knee with a note of finality.

“That’s really not the point.”

“You like casseroles,” Thor winked at Steve and shot finger-guns at him before waltzing over to Loki’s crib and lifting the baby up in his huge hands. “Loki likes casseroles, too. Don’t cha, cutie-pie? Yes, you do.”

Loki shrieked in delight, his small pink hands latching onto strands of Thor’s long golden hair as his older brother spun them around in their living room. Then Loki leaned forward and bit Thor hard on the chin. He bellowed in pain while the baby giggled happily.

Steve sighed and pulled up one of his sweater sleeves to reveal three tiny perfectly circular purple bite marks on his bicep. “Yeah, he’s been teething lately.”

“He’s trying to eat my face,” Thor said in a strained nasally voice. Loki had latched onto his nose.

“We should go shopping for Loki’s second phase of babyhood." Steve mused as the taller blond shook Loki loose.

“My precious child is growing into a man,” Thor said happily as he lifted back Loki’s lower lip. Two half-embedded pearly whites sat neatly in Loki's pink gums. Instantly, a river of drool slid down Thor's palm and into his sleeve.

"Honestly, I don't know how your little brother doesn't get dehydrated with that much saliva excretion. It’s like a miniature Niagara Falls," Steve confessed as he walked past.

Thor gave an exaggerated gasp and clutched Loki to his heaving bosom, “You take that back, Steven!”

 

* * *

 

Matt was humming under his breath when he breezed into the firm that morning, and **Foggy** instantly knew why.

"You're awfully happy today.”

"I am," Matt replied easily, smug satisfaction radiating off of him in waves. "Did we receive any prospective intern applications over the weekend?"

“New plumber, Matt?” Foggy asks without looking up from the pile of applications that had been stuffed down their mail chute.

"Foggy!” Matt’s cheeks pinked, and a hand fluttered unconsciously to his neck where Foggy would bet his first unborn child that a hickey was hidden.

During their second year at Columbia together, Foggy had come up with the term in a fit of drunken inspiration:

“You know, Mattie,” He had said slowly, “ You’re like a backed-up toilet, every now and then, you need a good solid plunging, or you’d get pissy and pent-up. And by plunger I mean-“

“I know what you mean, you can stop now,” Matt had said in a strained voice, his face spasming a little.

“-a penis. A really really big one. Attached to a man.” Foggy clarified helpfully.

“…Foggy, shut up.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up now.”

He _had_ thrown up. In Matt’s lap and all over his own shoes.

Foggy couldn’t really recall what had happened after that, but his date for the night never texted back, and the word “plumber” somehow became the secret codename for Matt’s numerous hookups.

“Did we get any good candidates?” Matt coughed and tried to wrestle the topic back on track.

“Still going through them. There’re a few promising ones from Columbia. On a scale of 1 to 10, how hot is he?”

Matt groaned loudly. “Foggy!”

“You know I’m just gonna keep asking until you give up and tell me.” Foggy shrugs carelessly.

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled noisily before saying in a soft voice, “11.”

“Is that his penis length in inches?”

“Foggy!”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“You’re the worst,” Matt huffs, but his smile is smug when he leans forward and says. “But maybe it is.”

It’s Foggy’s turn to groan. “I love you as a best friend, really I do, but you’re kind of a cock-slut, Mattie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You take that however you like, but seriously, do I get to give the guy the shovel talk or is he like the others you’ve plowed your way through and discarded?”

“He’s different,” the blush resurfaces much to Foggy’s horrified fascination.

“Jesus be with him.”

“I’m not the actual Devil, Foggy.”

“No? I had a nightmare the other day of you chasing me with a pitchfork of flaming sizzling penises.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Great, you’re not interested in assholes. You like dicks.”

“I am very tempted to smack you with my cane right now.”

“Anyway, how goes the seeing-eye dog application process?”

“It’s been great.” That blush again.

“Holy shit, Murdock.”

“What?”

“You’re boning your dog trainer, aren’t you?”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are. What’s his name? Tell me his name!”

“So you can go stalk him over Facebook? No thanks.”

“Well, I was gonna try LinkedIn first, but thanks for the hint.”

“Franklin Nelson!" 


End file.
